


Vignettes

by Fabrisse



Category: Foyle's War
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:55:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fabrisse/pseuds/Fabrisse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of moments during the first few years of the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Remember the Ladies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jenett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenett/gifts).



> _This takes place between the first season episodes_ **A Lesson in Murder** _and_ **Eagle Day**.

Sam looked over at her boss in the passenger seat. He was staring out the window, contemplating the scenery.

"Usually, sir, this is how you act before you've caught the criminal." She glanced in her rear view mirror to see the constables with the prisoner in the car behind. "I know this wasn't a big case."

"No. It was a squalid little domestic made worse by the fact that it had been going on for years and this was the first time anyone thought to report it." Christopher Foyle cocked his head to one side and resumed his staring.

"Of course, you're worried about Sergeant Milner, I know."

He hung his head and turned back to her. "I'm sure he'll be fine. I know he'll pass along his doctor's instructions if they affect the job in any way."

"Did you listen to the radio last night? The BBC said the Channel Islands are in the hands of the Germans."

Foyle said, "Yes, I heard.

Sam racked her brains and finally said, "Perhaps if you were to share the problem, I could help. Does it have anything to do with that wretched invasion committee?"

Foyle's lips turned up in a small smile. "It does. The vicar has not been as helpful as we thought he would be. Most of the big things are either already finished or will be completed within the next few weeks, but food storage and distribution if there's an invasion was his bailiwick and nothing's been organized. And the news from the Channel Islands does move our timetable up a bit."

Sam said, "I thought his wife was away until mid-July, helping her niece with a new baby."

"She is. I believe Mrs. Silsby was hoping to see her son before his deployment, too."

"Well, then."

Foyle peered at her. "I don't follow you."

Sam said, "I assume you asked the vicar because the church organizes jumble sales and harvest competitions and such."

"Yes."

"Except he doesn't, you see. He helps people with deaths and big events in their lives and gives sermons and runs deacons meetings, but the cleaning rota or the white elephant? That's his wife. In the case of some widowed vicars it might be a daughter, and at least one friend of my father's has an aunt -- or is it a sister…?"

Foyle interrupted, "I see your point. We haven't gotten a straight answer because he has no answer to give."

"Yes. I assume he's lacking curates, too, with the war."

Foyle said, "The young one's now an army chaplain. The older one is now a vicar himself at a small parish north of here. I believe he has a sister."

Sam nodded. "Well he'd need someone. Has the committee given any direction in this or has it all been left to the vicar?"

"We thought asking each parishioner to donate one ration per month to the general fund -- meat, lard, cheese, milk or egg powder, possibly a tin of fruit or vegetables. Rotate it through the alphabet so no one's always short of the same item. Perhaps request part of the harvest from people's vegetable gardens. I know most of my neighbors are growing beans. I've been told that they're easy to dry."

"Forgive me, sir, but your committee hasn't thought things through."

Foyle said, "Would you care to give me an example?"

"Dried beans need soaking and cooking. Will there be time for that if we're invaded? And I assume by meat ration, you mean bacon? Or were you planning to preserve meat yourselves? And where's the sugar?" Sam asked indignantly.

"Sugar is hardly a necessity."

"But it is, sir," Sam said. "Most of the supplies you're talking about can't be used without cooking. In the case of meat, even preserved meat, you'll have to rotate through it because it will go off within a year. Don't the local women put up vegetables and fruit?"

Foyle said, "Well, yes, Mrs. Quaife has won the preserved fruit competition for her damson preserves for the past three years. And Mrs. Delman's golden plum jam won last year's jam division."

"You see, sir, sugar," Sam said. "It's an excellent preserving agent. Why else would we continue to import it when other foodstuffs are more practical?" She gestured at the road. "Is anyone organizing a bramble picking expedition? Maybe the parish children could do it, but it would still need someone to organize preserving the fruits."

"With sugar. I see."

"You know, I only take breakfasts and Sunday lunch at my boarding house. We had rabbit last Sunday."

"Was it good?"

Sam glanced at him. "Excellent, sir, for rabbit. But the point is, there's someone raising rabbits. Perhaps, if there's an invasion, his or her patriotism might be appealed to and that would take care of fresh meat without needing a ration. Better that than those bunnies become _hasenpfeffer_."

Foyle's lips twitched in amusement. 

Sam gestured to her right. "I've never been down that road. Looks deserted."

"Yes, that farm was abandoned after the great flu. There was no one left to work it."

"Sad, that." She thought for a moment. "Did they have orchards?"

"I believe so -- good peaches, several varieties of plum, quince."

"Quince. That would be very good." She caught his look of interest. "Unlike most apples, they're self pollinating, and they're high enough in pectin that commercial pectin wouldn't be required if one were to make jam."

"Another project for the local Guides or Scouts, it sounds like. We have several old orchards on the outskirts where a farm is no longer fully viable."

Sam said, "I assume, sir, that there are multiple storage sites being contemplated. I mean just dropping it all in the church could be a problem if it takes a direct hit."

Foyle said, "Yes, well, give us some credit. The Town Hall, the school, the castle, even the police station will have a share in the storage."

"Very good, sir," Sam said meekly. "Has anyone spoken to the Methodists?"

He turned to stare at her.

She said, "It's just I noticed that the Methodist church is fairly well attended, and with their circuits and all, they might be able to coordinate more widely than just the town."

"I can see that we hadn't looked at all the aspects very well."

"No, sir." There was a long pause. "The vicar's wife should be back soon."

"Next week, I think."

"We'll need straw to store some things. Vinegar for pickling. And it would be a good idea to hold preserving parties at the church or school with an understanding that some portion of the food put up would go into the general storage. That Mrs. Quaife could be put in charge of the fruits, perhaps. And didn't the Royal Navy use preserved cabbage to prevent scurvy before they started buying limes?" 

Foyle said, "I believe so."

"We wouldn't even need glass jars for that, just crocks with heavy lids. It wouldn't taste good without cooking, but it wouldn't require it." She thought for a moment. "Will fuel be rationed this winter?"

"I don't know. I haven't heard of anything coming down the pike. If it is, it's likely to be coal for heating rather than gas for cooking."

"Good. That will make a difference. Perhaps you could also talk to the vicar's wife about second-hand clothing and mending parties. People could make rag rugs or draught excluders from anything too far gone to repair." 

"Or you could organize it. It's your idea, and you seem to understand how it should be run."

Sam said, "I don't think I've met the vicar's wife. Wouldn't want to step on toes, sir. Still, it's always easier to heat one area than many, and if we can't afford new clothes, maybe we can at least get something new to us."

Foyle said, "It would be a good way to stop rumors, too. The vicar's wife could make certain that everyone heard the real story at the meetings."

"It would make everyone feel as if we're pulling together for the war effort. As long as nothing interferes with choir practice, everything should run tickety-boo." Sam sighed. "Is sulfur still available? I'm sure some of the local farms have drying sheds for currants or those peaches you mentioned."

Foyle pulled out his notebook and pen, and made some notes.

"Sir, are you growing anything?"

Foyle said, "Not especially. Don't have the time or the knack. Horseradish. A few herb plants. There's a rose bush in the back garden my wife planted when we moved in, but that's not really food. There's a pear tree at the back, too."

"Well, you can make a pear sauce like an apple sauce to put up. I could teach you, sir. And rose hips are very nutritious. They'll prevent scurvy, too."

"Really. I'll make certain to harvest the hips, then, though I admit I've never made jam."

Sam said, "In that case, sir, you could just dry them for a tisane."

"I'll do that."

They made the turn to get to the police station.

"Mister Foyle, did it really not occur to anyone to ask the local women to serve on the committee?"

"My understanding is that Lady Mary Benford was invited as a local landowner, and the headmistress of Saint Clement was discussed as a possibility. But, you know, I wasn't supposed to be on the committee originally. They wanted someone higher ranking, like the chief constable for Sussex."

Sam said, "If it's not out of line…"

"Please go ahead, Sam."

"Then you should bally well push for that headmistress to be part of the committee and have her organize the women's auxiliary committee."

"Beginning with enlisting the vicar's wife and the wife of the Methodist minister?"

Sam smiled. "Exactly, sir. This is housewifery. It may be on a grand scale, but it's the skills we've been taught, do you see?"

"I do see, Sam. And thank you. Shall I put you down for organizing the brambling expeditions? We'll need several. Gooseberries and currants ripen separately from the brambles I believe. And, of course, the drying and storage will need organizing."

"Oh. Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

He smiled quietly at seeing her discomfited. "I'll certainly make certain to add sugar to our list of donated rations, too."

"Will you need me any further today?"

Foyle glanced at his watch. It was already five-fifteen. "Your landlady doesn't let you cook after six?"

"That's right, sir."

"I'll walk home this evening, then. I appreciate your suggestions. If there is an invasion, we've been told we're to hold out for seven days. This could give us a chance to do just that."

She saluted him. "Thank you, sir."

"Good night, Sam."


	2. Uncertainties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sergeant Milner has a question for Chief Superintendent Foyle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Takes place after the third season episode_ **Enemy Fire.**

There was a knock on Foyle's office door. He glanced up from the report he'd been reading and thought for a minute before saying, "Come in."

Sergeant Milner looked in and Foyle waved him to a chair.

"So, Sergeant, what did you want to say?"

Milner sat for a moment. "I wanted to thank you for Doctor Wren. You could have charged him."

"With simple assault."

"Which would have wrecked his career and wrecked him."

Foyle chewed his lip for a moment and said, "I hope you know that if his strike had been the fatal blow, I would have charged him without hesitation."

"Yes, sir. It would have been murder."

Foyle glanced at him. "Would it?"

Milner swallowed. "He premeditated the attack -- or at least the confrontation."

"He did."

"I don't understand, sir, premeditation equals murder."

Foyle said, "The law takes intent into account for charging a criminal, just as it takes remorse into account, in many instances, in sentencing. That isn't part of our job. Intent is."

"So anyone who has the presence of mind to say, 'I didn't mean to do it' when they're confessing should be charged with manslaughter?"

Foyle gave his sergeant a hard stare. "Do you think so little of me? We have seen senior men in high service try to claim their worth to the war effort exceeds their crime of taking another's life. Yet we arrested them any way and the charge was murder. Doctor Wren by his own confession planned to confront his wife's lover. That was premeditated, but we'd seen him fly off the handle when he originally reported the sabotage to us."

"Arguing a volatile temperament."

Foyle said, "An impulsive one, certainly. That doesn’t make it right. How he can be steady enough under the kind of pressure the operating theater must have is a mystery to me, but it does mean, especially in light of his full confession and willingness to take the consequences, that when he said 'I didn't mean to do it' I could believe him."

"And what would manslaughter have gotten him? He would still have been taken from the people who needed him at the hospital."

"Most prisons have no doctors with the war on. He would still have have been a surgeon. His labor would have been behind bars. That wouldn't be true at any other time, but…"

Milner nodded. "There's a war on."

Foyle said, "I think the close call will keep him from doing anything similar in future."

"With his, erm, domestic situation, sir, I'm not sure of that. I hope you're right, and not just because he saved as much of my leg as he could."

"I hope so, too. And I am fairly certain that his domestic situation won't continue to play a part. His wife has left Hastings." He looked at Milner closely.

"I see. Yes, it might be difficult for him, but it should relieve the pressure."

"Exactly."

Milner saw him glance back at his paperwork. "Thank you, sir, for taking the time."

"Any time, Sergeant. I will say that I'm somewhat disappointed that you thought I would permit Doctor Wren's position to influence me, but I'm also happy that you felt free to come and ask me outright. I hope you won't feel the need to again."

"No, sir. I don't think I shall."


	3. Black, White, and Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam Stewart and Sergeant Milner talk about Foyle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Takes place toward the end of the episode_ **Casualties of War**.

"He won't do it. I'm sure of it." Samantha Stewart looked out to see from the pier. 

Sergeant Milner said, "I hope the Assistant Commissioner will see reason."

"But if he doesn't, you don't think Mister Foyle will actually _resign_ , do you?"

"Yes," Milner said. 

"But why?"

"Justice. That was the carrot for him to stay on the job. You know he wanted war work. He's lunched in London often enough."

Sam humphed. "Not that often. And there was that case…" She thought back.

"That's just it. They convinced him, well, all of us on the police force, really, that our jobs were important. Even with so much death, so many disruptions, our work shows the public that British justice will continue. We're not government, but we're part of English life."

Sam said, "Thanks to Agatha Christie."

Milner smiled. "I admit, I'd love to see Mister Foyle's reaction to a little old lady who thought she knew better than the police -- or a Belgian with 'little gray cells' -- intruding on the investigation."

"You read Agatha Christie? I would have thought her books would be a bit of a busman's holiday for you."

"I prefer John Buchan, if I'm just reading to pass the time."

"Adventure stories?," Sam said, "I wouldn't have thought it. Not after…"

"Norway? It's nice to read an adventure that can come to a good end."

Sam nodded. "The Assistant Commissioner doesn't like Mister Foyle much, does he?"

"I don't know. And Mister Foyle would bust me down to walking a beat if he heard me say anything against a senior officer."

"Of course. Do you know, I thought it would be easier for men like you and Mister Foyle? You see the shades of grey. My father and Uncle Aubrey, they see things in black and white."

Milner said, "I'm not sure I follow you, Sam."

"Well, when things are black and white, there are hard lines, and you mustn't ever cross them. I thought that policemen, you're, _we're_ on the side of good and all, or at least on the side of justice, but your lines wouldn't be so hard. But Mister Foyle … I think in some ways he's stricter than any vicar."

"We're a lot like vicars. We see people at their worst and through their worst times, but…" Milner thought for a moment. "Vicars connect to people. The situations are not important to them. A good policeman, like Mister Foyle, he can have compassion, but the situation is the important thing. The situation is what needs to be resolved. That's justice -- resolving the situation. Vicars are about forgiveness, and, frankly, it's not our place to forgive, only to report."

"The Assistant Commissioner is more interested in people and politics than resolving the situation, isn't he?"

Milner sighed. "Yes."

"Mister Foyle's going to resign, isn't he?"

"I think he'll have to. If I were older, more settled, I would. If what makes us essential in the war is justice being done, then the Assistant Commissioner has taken that away from us. Oh, he's following an order from higher up, and the diplomat would probably have been able to board his plane in peace time, too."

"Without questioning?" Sam asked.

"That's what I don't know. Scotland Yard would know more than I do about things like that."

"Well, whatever happens, I'm not going back to my parents, and I plan to figure out a way to support Mister Foyle. I think I've been very lucky to work with him."

Milner nodded. "We both have."


End file.
